


what a ballad they would make

by Saraste



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt doesn't think he deserves happiness, M/M, Self-Indulgent, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Geralt finally notices that Jaskier is a bit taller than him, which leads to him really NOTICING Jaskier...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	what a ballad they would make

In which Geralt makes observations about Jaskier’s height

It took a long time for Geralt to notice that Jaskier was almost two inches taller than him. The rest, and there was a lot to see, he had observed quite quickly with the keen eye of a Witcher, always cataloguing everything new about his surroundings, in case it was a potential threat.

Not that he had ever seen Jaskier as a threat.

Well, possibly to his continued sanity, but not to life and limb. What Jaskier was the most was distraction, with his long limbs and lean build, and pretty smiles and enticing words. In a word: he was a flirt at his core.

But it was a flirtation that Geralt had no desire to enter into, as he knew full well that it would end up scarring his heart. Jaskier was too boisterous, too loud, too alive to not leave his mark on Geralt’s memories as was, if he were to let the bard in as anything besides a friend, a trusted travelling companion… it would not end well for his heart.

Yet now there was this.

He’d noticed the bard’s height, which he must have blocked from earlier observations out of sheer want of self-preservation, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He kept picturing Jaskier using even that slight difference to his advantage and towering over him, or trying to, which would be absolutely adorable if Geralt could allow it, before he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s lips, with his hand in his hair and the other at his waist, perhaps, as the bard, _his bard_ , plied him with all that he had and Geralt gave in.

Because of course he would. 

And there in lay the problem. Geralt knew himself well enough that he knew he would never deny Jaskier if he were to make his interest known in a manner that couldn’t be denied, because Geralt was weak and wouldn’t be able to bear Jaskier’s disappointment if he refused him. And if it happened, if his bard took the leap and sought for something more… the friendship they had would never be the same again.

He often lay awake at night thinking about that, how he kept himself away from grasping whatever happiness life might offer him and only because of the hurt that would come after, for the price of love was _always_ sorrow. He knew this, but now, now it was harder to remember and to ignore that it wasn’t just sorrow that he would be feeling, but all the joys of love and lust and companionship that preceded it, that would cause it when all was over because time spared no mortal.

It was a Witcher’s curse to feel too much, to suffer loss as a lingering, ever-present ache, living in a world of fragile and short-lived ordinary humans, which was why most of them hid them away and pretended to not feel at all. And that was why everyone believed the lie passed into lore and myth about Witcher’s having no emotions. It was better to live among people and try to save them if one didn’t get too close and have to mourn them when violence of illness or age claimed them.

Even if it left every single Witcher terribly lonely.

And that was why he would do nothing, couldn’t see Jaskier as anything but a friend and travel companion and had to stop referring to him as _his bard_ in that terribly fond tone in his thoughts. Nothing good would come of it, not when it was all put into the perspective of Geralt’s long life, in which Jaskier would only be a chapter.

But oh, what a chapter, what verse, what a ballad they would make!

Jaskier’s two inches of height couldn’t be enough to make Geralt put aside every single good decision he’d made in regards to his heart and how much it could bear before hardening so much he wouldn’t make a good Witcher any longer, when he himself became the monster that needed killing.

Bleviken had been too close, which was why he couldn’t risk it.

And yet he dreamed and thought about what if’s and admired Jaskier surreptitiously, keeping him close, even when he couldn’t have him in all the ways he wanted.

Friends was enough, even when he knew that he’d end up mourning Jaskier for the rest of his days all the same.

But his bard was too clever by half and decided to do something about Geralt looking at him with eyes that shone with more than the innocent warmth of friendship.

He accosted Geralt one night on the road, there were no eavesdroppers on this conversation, but a far too tall and well-shaped bard right in his space, leaning into him like he had always dreamed. It was enough to make Geralt breathless. He should have run. He didn’t. Couldn’t.

‘Right. Why are you staring at me like you want to kiss me?’ Jaskier asked.

His bard was at a disadvantage with the failing light but Geralt, he saw everything, smelled everything and heard everything. Jaskier’s desire hung heavy in the air, almost choking him with its intensity, almost making him reach, to dare make the leap, no matter how battered his heart would end up, come time.

Yet he was already lost.

‘Geralt…’ His bard put a hand on his cheek, leaned in with his slight height advantage, ‘I’ve seen you looking. I know you want me as more than a friend. Why are you fighting us?’ His voice had dropped whisper-low by the end, but Geralt heard and Jaskier knew he would.

There was no place for lies and half-truths here, at the end of their friendship and the bright and terrifying chance of having everything.

‘Because you’re human.’

‘I see. And what does that matter so much to you that you won’t grab happiness where you could have it.’

His body was tall and warm and desirable and his words promised future happiness, but Geralt wouldn’t be a tragic ballad, Jaskier deserved better than a man who wouldn’t age in his lifetime, but who would stay the same or end up finally meeting his end in battle with a monster… possibly only after Jaskier was gone.

Jaskier deserved honesty, even if it would end up ending their friendship, or making it less than what it currently was. ‘I don’t want to have to mourn you.’

‘And you would, even now, you can’t lie to me about that.’

Geralt reached out, allowing himself that much, even when he’d so often told himself that he wouldn’t, and gently combed his fingers through Jaskier’s wild hair, his bard leaning into the touch. ‘I would mourn you until I forgot myself and became less than what I am now, and would deserve to be put down. It would be worse than after Bleviken.’

‘You love me that much?’

There was too much naked hope in Jaskier’s voice to bear with any kind of grace, too much temptation that it would be worth enough to bear the hurt that _would_ come, inevitable and devastating.

And still… it was already too late to deny it.

‘Yes.’

Jaskier did lean down then and kissed him and Geralt kissed him back with all the pent-up passion and love locked in his soul and allowed himself to be happy, accepting all the hurt that would come, cherishing every single moment with Jaskier for the precious gifts they were.


End file.
